


not a second too late late

by spraycansoul



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Bitty hosts the Late Late Show and Jack guests, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, That's it that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraycansoul/pseuds/spraycansoul
Summary: In his twenty-seven years of life, Eric Bittle never thought he’d achieve the level of fame required to guest-host a late night talk show. Of course, he’d also never envisioned himself in the guest dressing room of said late night talk show, making out with a professional hockey player he’s slated to interview in twenty minutes.And yet.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 78
Kudos: 602





	not a second too late late

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-reading [@RabbitRunnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah)’s incredible [Once in a Lifetime](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324406/chapters/38187767) series and basically there’s a line that goes, “Yeah, okay, it could have happened that way. Or, we could have been booked on the same late night show and fallen madly in love backstage.” So this is that.
> 
> TW for descriptions of a panic attack! Really short and totally skippable, so if you want/need to, stop reading at “As he walks off set” and then start up again at “It feels like forever” ü

“Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric Bittle intones. “People Magazine recently named you this year’s Sexiest Man Alive, correct?” He gives his guest a quizzical look from behind his cue card, one eyebrow raised.

Across the table, Jack Zimmermann ducks, his cheeks coloring deliciously. “I can’t say I agree with them, but it would seem that’s what happened,” he allows, a small smile playing at his own lips. The audience laughs at his modesty.

“So humble.” Bitty reads the rest of the card in his hands, and his expression turns wicked. “Who is the most recent celebrity to ever slide into your DMs?” By the time he’s finished reading the question, he’s already dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“Jesus,” Jack groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, but he’s smiling like it’s an inside joke of some kind. “This is so terrible. I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

Bitty shrugs innocently and gestures to the shot glass in front of his guest. “Well,” he says, exaggerating his twang, “you’re very much welcome to drink the hot sauce, if you don’t want to share.”

Jack narrows his eyes at Bitty, and Bitty holds his gaze with a daring smirk.

“Maybe I will,” Jack says.

“So do it.”

Bitty’s jaw drops as Jack picks up the shot of hot sauce, not breaking eye contact, and gulps it down in one go. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic.

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to drink the whole thing!” Bitty’s halfway out of his seat, hands hovering in the air.

“It’s fine,” Jack coughs a little before taking a long pull from his glass of water. He looks—well, he looks _great—_ that is, completely fine, if a little red around his ears. “I lived on sriracha in college.”

Bitty sits back down and lets out an exasperated bark of a laugh. “You’re insane.”

Jack grins at him, turning the table slowly to present Bitty with his next course. “Maybe I am.”

  
  


It starts out like this: Eric Bittle gets a very excited call from his agent one summer afternoon, telling him she’s landed him a huge opportunity to promote his upcoming cookbook ‘Life of Pie’, the much-awaited follow-up to his highly successful debut ‘For Goodness Bakes’. At first he thinks it’s another collab with the Bon Appetit test kitchen, or maybe a ten-minute spot on some morning show—instead, he finds out he’s _hosting_ an entire episode of the Late Late Show with James Corden while the real James Corden is off filming a movie in Australia. Next week.

“What in the deep fried—Foxtrot, you can’t be serious,” Bitty says into his phone, desperately trying to tamp down his panic. It’s a good thing he’s alone in his apartment.

“Oh, I am,” Denice Ford’s tinny voice insists in his ear. “In fact, I am so serious that I’ve already booked your flight out to LA on Wednesday for rehearsals.”

“Wednesday?” Bitty squeaks. It’s Sunday.

“Yes, Wednesday!” Ford confirms. “You host on Friday.”

Bitty takes a deep, steadying breath. He has approximately five days to wrap his head around the crazy fact that he’s going to _host a live late night talk show_. “Okay… Okay, fuck it. This is amazing.”

“Hell yeah, it’s amazing!” Ford shouts into his ear. “You’re absolutely gonna kill it, Bits! No sweat.”

“Okay.” Bitty breathes again, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He lets out a little whoop to psych himself out. “Okay, who are the guests?”

“Bits.” Ford sounds serious all of a sudden, almost reverent. “You have to understand—I chose the date especially for you. No thanks needed, but you’re welcome in advance.”

Bitty feels the panic rise up in his chest again. “Fordy, what the hell did you do?”

“Okay, so it’s Zoey Deutch, Carly Rae Jepsen, and, drumroll, please—”

“ _Denice Isabelle Ford,_ I swear to god—”

“Jack Zimmermann,” she whispers. “I got you Jack Zimmermann.”

Bitty doesn’t even try to contain the little scream that rips from his throat. “Oh my god, Ford, I hate you so, so much,” he says, but he’s grinning so widely his mouth is starting to hurt. “I’m literally going to kill you. _Bless your heart._ ”

Ford just laughs, as if she was expecting that exact response. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”

  
  


So—it turns out it all started way, _way_ before that. Eight years ago, to be exact.

It’s not actually a long story: Eric Bittle, as a naïve Samwell freshman, developed a stupidly huge crush on the captain of the school hockey team. Said hockey captain frequented Annie’s, the coffee shop where he worked part-time to help fund his tuition, and frequently sat alone in the corner of the shop with a pile of books, a cup of black coffee, and a perma-frown on his ridiculously chiseled face. Bitty had been but a small town gay, ever-prone to falling for the triple threat of tall, dark, and handsome, conveniently paired with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Jack Zimmermann was not the glittering conversationalist both his parents were known for being, and he had an intimidating air about him, but he was always kind, leaving generous tips and sometimes even shocking Bitty into mild heart attacks with one of his rare smiles.

One day in Bitty’s second semester at Samwell, Jack Zimmermann went a step further and started calling Bitty by his actual name.

“Hey, Eric,” he said casually, like hearing his name roll off Jack’s tongue didn’t have Bitty just one step away from an aneurysm. He knows it’s on his name tag, plenty of the regulars call him by his first name, but this is the first time Jack Zimmermann had ever used it to his face.

“Hi, Jack,” Bitty just managed to say. “Your usual?”

Jack gave him one of those heart-stopping smiles he was still trying to get used to. “Yes, please. And, um, maybe a slice of that banana bread?”

“Sure thing, hon.” Bitty just nodded casually, trying not to let his excitement show. It was the first time Jack had ever ordered any baked good, let alone one that he actually made. “Let me know how it tastes!”

Jack’s smile shifted slightly as he raised an eyebrow. “You baked this?”

In that moment, Bitty gained a sudden boost of confidence, cocking his head slightly and shrugging. “Depends if you like it.”

Jack grinned— _sweet baby Jesus, have mercy_ —and handed him his card. “I’ll let you know, then.” Once he got his receipt, he left Bitty with a wink and turned to take his usual spot in the corner.

That day was the beginning of what Bitty likes to call his “casual friendship” but what is realistically more of a “friendly acquaintance” with one Jack Zimmermann. Suddenly, Jack was pairing his short, clipped orders with light chirps (Bitty couldn’t help that he always got a bad case of butterfingers whenever Jack was around), lingering at the counter to make endearingly awkward small talk with Bitty when there wasn’t a line behind him, and ordering pastries with increasing frequency. (Bitty knows he especially liked his maple apple pie, though Jack never really admitted it.) They would even exchange hellos whenever they saw each other outside of Annie’s. Bitty was pretty content to pine from afar, but it didn’t help that his coworkers (Ford included) frequently chirped him about his “gigantic heart-eyes seen from outer space” whenever Jack entered Annie’s.

Of course, Bitty often saw Jack with girls on his arm—heck, he even brought them to Annie’s, sometimes—so Bitty had to frequently remind himself not to be disappointed that his ridiculous crush could never come to any fruition. Jack Zimmermann was gorgeous, sweet, and kind—not to mention straight, so Bitty had quickly learned to ignore any and all errant thoughts about his favorite customer, no matter how painful and real his crush got.

At the end of Bitty’s sophomore year at Samwell, Jack Zimmermann graduated and joined the Providence Falconers as their starting forward and the face of the franchise. He’d gone on to win the Stanley Cup in his first year and again two years later, in addition to the Calder Trophy, Art Ross Trophy, Conn Smythe Trophy and, most recently, one Olympic gold medal, all in his six-year professional hockey career. In 2019, he publicly came out as bisexual but, as far as the public (read: Bitty) knows, he stays (unbelievably, impossibly, _painfully_ ) single the entire time.

Bitty hasn’t seen him since Samwell. 

Anyway, all these years later, Eric “Bitty” Bittle has also made a name for himself. His vlog started really taking off in the second half of his junior year when he was invited to the Bon Appetit test kitchen and it became quickly apparent that his pastry-making skills were pretty much at par with senior editor Claire Saffitz. His pie-off with her quickly spread as one of the most watched videos on their channel ever. By the time he graduated with a degree in restaurant entrepreneurship, he had over a million subscribers on his channel and a dozen job offers, including a job as a writer for Bon Appetit Magazine.

While that was an opportunity of a lifetime, Bitty wanted his own gig—he’d saved up almost all the money he got from ads and sponsors in the last year to open a small patisserie in the East Village, a tiny space he called Bitty Bites. True to its name, Bitty Bites serves up tiny servings of Bitty’s greatest hits, including his famous mini pies. Within the next year, Bitty Bites had been featured on almost every foodie website, food magazine, and trendy food show, and the ink had just dried on the book deal for Bitty’s first cookbook. He continued to keep up with his vlog, inviting more and more popular personalities he’s met through business, until eventually, Netflix came knocking on his door, offering him a permanent spot at the judging table of Sugar Rush, replacing Adriano Zumbo.

To date, Bitty Bites has two locations in New York, one in Boston (where most of his friends live), and one just opening up in Los Angeles. He’s still a judge on Sugar Rush, though they’re currently in between seasons. His vlog (which he tries to update every few months) still has over three million subscribers and his Twitter account has about a million followers. He’s a New York Times Bestselling Author, lives in a cozy yet chic apartment in New York, and is, as far as the public knows, tragically single. In a week and a half, his new cookbook will drop and he’ll embark on ten city book tour along the East coast.

But first, there’s a late night talk show he needs to host.

  
  


Bitty spends the day after finding out about the hosting gig agonizing over whether or not he should reach out to Jack Zimmermann. He’s already sent messages to his two other guests, but that was easy, considering he didn’t nurse a gigantic crush on either of them for half of his college career. He’s sure Jack already knows that he’s guest-hosting—he _must_ know since it’s less than a week away—so it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he sent him a message. 

Saying what, though? _Hey, we haven’t spoken in, like, six years and we were never really close to begin with, but I’m going to be interviewing you on Friday and I’m excited to see you_?

Too desperate. What if Jack doesn’t even remember him? Surely his busy hockey career hasn’t afforded him enough time to keep up with the professional careers of people he knew in college, no matter how successful they became. Jack probably heard Bitty’s name from his agent and experienced a passing moment of recognition. Maybe sending a message would be too presumptuous.

But it would be rude not to send him a message when they’d technically been acquaintances? It’ll be more awkward if he didn’t at least say hello and reintroduce himself before they met on Friday.

Fuck it. Bitty opens Instagram, searches for Jack’s account—just @ _jlz_ , must’ve paid for the username because it’s so darn perfect for him—and opens the most recent picture, uploaded yesterday. It’s a post-workout selfie with one of his teammates, Jack sweaty and smiling and holding up a thumbs up. Bitty takes a deep breath—Jack looks even better than he did in college—before typing out a message and sending it before he can think twice. 

_Looking great, Jack! A little birdie told me you’re guesting on the Late Late Show on Friday. Excited to see you there! :)_

Ugh. Could he be any more obvious? Jack’s completely going to see through it and think he’s trying to slide into his DMs or something—

Bitty’s thoughts get interrupted by his phone buzzing lightly in his hand. Jack’s already replied.

_You’re not so bad yourself. See you on Friday, Eric. :)_

Bitty just barely stops himself from flinging his phone across the room. He can’t possibly have read that correctly. Was that—could that count as flirting? Is Jack Zimmermann _flirting with him?_ He runs a hand through his hair, frantically thinking of a way to keep the conversation going without sounding too desperate.

_I’m actually thinking of bringing a few goodies to share with everyone. Any requests?_

That’s fine, right? Completely innocent. Totally neutral.

Jack’s reply comes seconds later. _Something sweet? Surprise me. ;)_

Lord. This boy will be the death of him.

  
  


On the big day, Bitty wakes up early. His call time is not until 11 AM, but his restlessness gets the best of him, so he spends the morning baking for the crew and his guests. He arrives at the studio at 10, armed with more than enough pastries to feed a small army. Ford is already there with Avery, the stage manager, who guides them around the studio and drops them off at his dressing room. Bitty quickly gets antsy and decides to migrate most of his baked goods to the break room, where everyone can grab a bite as they please.

Bitty goes through the rest of the morning and afternoon on autopilot; it’s the only way he can contain his nerves. There’s pre-taping a few segments at 12, followed by lunch and then rehearsals for his opening monologue at 2, followed by a run-through for the special segment of ‘Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts’ he’s slated to do with Jack Zimmermann, _Christ on a cracker_. Everything goes smoothly, Bitty delivers all his lines with the Southern charm he’s known for, and when that’s done, he gets one final hour of downtime before the cameras start rolling for real. 

As he walks off set, he gets hit by a sudden wave of panic that has him pacing the backstage hallway frantically. He hasn’t felt this kind of unsettled in a long while, like his body wants to jump out of his skin. He pats around his pockets for his phone to call Ford, only to realize he’d left it with her while he was doing rehearsals. Wow, fuck, he needs to breathe. This can’t really be happening right now. God, what was he even doing hosting a talk show when he can barely get himself together?

The panic quickly rises in his chest, it’s so sudden it’s suffocating, and he can feel his knees start to give when he hears the chatter of some crew members, probably making their way down to the break room. Desperate for a reprieve, he quickly lets himself into the nearest dressing room, thankfully unlocked, and presses his back against the door behind him.

Bitty screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Unable to sustain the effort of standing, he allows his knees to buckle and slides down to the floor. He holds his hands in fists at his side to prevent himself from rubbing at his eyes even though he can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, because even though he’s in the middle of a meltdown, he can’t possibly forget that he’s going to be on in less than an hour, _oh my goodness gracious_. Okay. God. He’s fine. He’ll do fine. He’s done all of this before, right? _It’s fine._

It feels like forever, but moments later, he feels his chest loosen up slightly and his head gets a little less heavy. Just as he’s finally ready to open his eyes, someone clears their throat.

“Are you okay?” Jack Zimmermann is asking him, voice gentle and full of concern. Because this is Jack Zimmermann’s dressing room.

Bitty surreptitiously wipes at his eyes, scrambling to get up. “Lord, I am so sorry,” he says in between ragged breaths. “This was _so_ not the first impression I wanted to make.”

“No need to impress me, Eric, I promise you.” Jack is suddenly much, much closer than he was before, looking worried. “Here,” he says, holding out an uncapped bottle of water. “This usually helps me.”

“Thank you,” Bitty breathes, taking a big gulp of water to soothe his dry throat. “You’re an angel.”

Jack chuckles softly. “If only,” he says, shaking his head. “Do you wanna sit for a second?” Jack cocks his head towards the couch in the corner of the room.

Bitty nods gratefully—he’s not quite ready to go out there looking like this. “I’m sorry I ambushed you in your own dressing room. It’s just—last minute jitters, is all.”

Jack shakes his head. “Oh no, you didn’t ambush me at all, don’t worry. I know the feeling,” he says, settling down onto the couch. “Want to talk about it?”

As Bitty sits, he takes a moment to look at Jack, really look, and _wow_ , have the years been good to him. Jack is a little bulkier than before with a bit of neatly trimmed scruff, but his eyes are as blue as ever. He’s dressed really nicely, too, in an embroidered polo shirt that highlights his arms and chest, and dress pants that fit him like a second skin. He also smells really good.

Bitty catches himself staring before it gets too awkward, and shakes his head in answer to Jack’s question. “It’s—well, it is what it is. I think I just need to be distracted.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, I get it.” There’s a few seconds of silence, both of them trying to figure out their footing, when Jack speaks up. “Actually,” he says, “Sorry, I know we just sat down, but—I believe I was promised some goodies?” Jack suddenly stands to full height, holding a hand out for Bitty.

“Huh?” Bitty squints at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Distracting you.” Jack grins, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

Bitty cracks a smile at that. He takes one last deep breath and shakes his head at the sudden turn of events. Jack’s hand is startlingly large, but warm when he takes it. “In my dressing room,” he says as Jack pulls him up from the couch. It takes all of Bitty’s self-control to let go of Jack’s hand. “Actually, I could use a slice of pie right now.” 

“Pie?” Jack seems to perk up at that. “You brought pie? What flavor?”

The hallway is blessedly empty when they step outside. “Your favorite,” Bitty replies, leading the way down the hall.

Jack looks amused when Bitty turns to glance at him. “And what might that be?”

“Well, I dunno,” Bitty shrugs. “You tell me, Mr. Zimmermann.” He holds his door open and gestures into the room.

Jack exaggerates his sniff and lets out an incredulous laugh. “Maple apple? I can’t believe you remembered!”

Bitty beams. “‘Course I remembered, you only ordered it like three times a week!” He gestures for Jack to take a seat on the couch as he cuts them each a slice.

Jack takes another long whiff of the pie when Bitty hands him his plate. Bitty watches with rapt attention as he takes his first bite, eyes falling shut and letting out a noise that is borderline indecent. “Fuck, I missed this,” Jack groans, mouth still full. “This is fantastic, Eric.”

Bitty feels the blood rush to his cheeks at the praise. “Bitty,” he blurts out before he realizes what he’s saying. “You can call me Bitty. All my friends do.”

“Bitty,” Jack repeats, smiling. “Long time, no see, Bitty.”

“Yeah, haha, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Bitty takes a bite out of his own slice, just to do something with his hands. He’s kind of obsessing over how Jack says his nickname. He can’t wait to hear it again. “Congratulations on the Golden Goal, by the way! Though saying that will probably get my American citizenship revoked or something,” he jokes.

Jack chuckles, methodically cutting his pie into pieces. “Thanks. That game was kind of nuts, eh? One of the fastest games I’ve ever played for sure.”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like it. That hit from Kent Parson in the second period was… well. You know.” Bitty grimaces.

Jack’s face inexplicably lights up. “Wait—you watched?”

Bitty scoffs. “Of course I watched, that’s my country you played against! Being an ex-figure skater doesn’t mean I’m totally clueless at other ice sports, you know.”

“Fair enough,” Jack says. “It really was crazy, though. It’s not everyday you get to play with the literal best in your sport from all over the world, eh? It’s a good thing Bettman actually let us participate this year.” His plate is almost empty at this point, and Bitty idly wonders how he’s able to still look insanely attractive as he scarfs down a whole slice of pie. “Oh, hey, congrats on your cookbook! I heard you’re doing a book tour after this, yeah?” 

Bitty keeps getting blindsided by the fact that Jack seems to know things about his career. “Yeah, just along the east coast. I think we have a stop in Providence, actually, if y’all wanna drop by? I’m sure I’ll have some brownies or somethin’ from the shop to give away.” He tries not to sound too coy or desperate with the invite, but Jack actually looks genuinely interested.

“Really? Around when?”

“Oh, the second week of July, I think?”

“That’s perfect, I’ll be flying back to Providence the week before.” Jack gives him a blinding smile. “Is the recipe for your nanaimo bars going to be in it? The first time my teammate brought a box back from your shop in Boston, I legitimately thought they were from home. How come you never did those at Annie’s?”

Bitty is pretty sure that’s the most words he’s ever heard Jack speak in one go—and he was talking about his nanaimo bars. “Well, as you’ll recall, I was but a broke college student working at someone else’s coffee shop, so I didn’t really have any say on what went on the menu.”

“Right,” Jack says sheepishly. “No complaints here, of course. Anything you baked was always delicious.”

“Charmer.” Bitty’s stomach swoops at the sincerity in Jack’s words. He decides he can probably flirt back right now and it would be completely harmless. It’s not like he really has anything to lose. “Well, to answer your question, no, the nanaimo bars aren’t in the cookbook, so I guess you’ll just have to pay me a visit at one of my stores to get ‘em.” 

Jack smiles. “That can be arranged.” 

Bitty looks down at his pie for a break from Jack’s intense gaze, taking his time with constructing his next bite. “I always knew you had a sweet tooth,” Bitty says, after a beat. “You came around so often, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for the coffee.”

“Oh, it definitely wasn’t the coffee,” Jack agrees. “Though I didn’t _only_ come for the pastries.” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully at Bitty as he sets his empty plate down on coffee table.

“Oh?” Bitty’s brows furrow. “What else were you coming ‘round for, then?”

Jack sighs exaggeratedly. “There was this really cute barista, you know? Kind of short, blond hair, brown eyes, with an _adorable_ accent—”

Bitty squawks. He can’t believe what he just heard. “You had a crush on Greta?!”

“Gre—what? No! I don’t even know a Greta!” Jack exclaims, obviously trying not to laugh. “I’m talking about you, Bitty.”

Bitty’s brain short-circuits at that. His mouth falls open on its own accord as his brain struggles to keep up. “Wait, what? How—why didn’t you say anything?!” 

Jack has the courtesy to look embarrassed, passing a hand through his hair. “Dunno. It was a little hard with all the hockey stuff. There was... a lot of pressure at that stage.” He winces. “And I was… shy, I guess? I mean, why would you want to go out with some dumb jock on the hockey team?” He sounds like he’s going for a joking tone, but it falls just short of self-deprecating.

“Oh, honey.” Bitty puts down his plate to touch Jack’s arm. “Why wouldn’t I? You weren’t just some dumb jock, you were… _you._ Kind and smart and, well, I hate to break it to ‘ya, Zimmermann, but you’re not exactly lacking in the looks department.” He gives him a once over as obviously as he can. “Trust me.”

Jack’s cheeks pinken as he smiles. He shakes his head slowly like he can’t believe what’s happening, and honestly, Bitty can relate. “Wow, I can’t believe—We could have really started something there, huh?” 

Bitty wants to go back in time and smack some sense into both of their past selves. “Oh boy, college Bitty would just about _die_ if he ever found out he had a chance with Jack Zimmermann. When you came out last year, I was like, _see, Fordy, he likes men, he just didn’t like_ me.”

Jack snorts. “Fat chance. You have to know how hot you were in college,” he says, his words a stark contrast to his serious tone. “Still are, really.”

Bitty’s trying to come to terms with the fact that his cheeks will probably permanently on fire as long as Jack’s close by, so he takes this time to catalogue all the ways Jack Zimmermann has changed since he’d last seen him in person. He seems much more confident now, more at ease with himself than he’s ever been. It’s obvious in the relaxed slope of his shoulder, the way he’d approached Bitty after a full-blown panic attack, like he knew exactly what to do in the moment, the way he’s (let’s be honest) _outright_ _flirting_ with Bitty right now—all of this, lightyears away from the brooding, intimidating, untouchable demeanor he maintained in college. Even in this moment, as Bitty is obviously staring at him, he doesn’t seem the least bit unsettled. Suddenly, Bitty can’t wait to see what he’s like in front of the audience tonight, if this new, confident, smiley Jack is the same in front of a crowd as he is in a private dressing room. 

Jack seems to be staring at Bitty in the same way, and Bitty wonders what he sees. All Bitty knows is that up until recently, he never dared to wish for a career even remotely close to what he had now—that would just be setting himself up for disappointment—but now that he’s here, he can’t help but want more. It’s an extremely blessed life and Bitty is thankful for every moment of it, but sometimes he just wishes that he had someone to share it with. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that he was somehow meant to be here in this moment with Jack, like he’s just been given another shot at something he once really wanted. Maybe it took all those years to make him finally realize that he _can_ have the things that he wants, if he’d just reach out and ask.

“Well, I mean, it’s not too late, right?” Bitty says finally, looking up at Jack. “To start something.”

Jack looks thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right,” he says after a beat. “It’s too late _late_.” 

Bitty laughs, Jack’s quip catching him off-guard. “Still at it with the dad jokes, I see.”

“Hah. I’ve got a rep to protect, Bittle.” Jack ducks his head, deflecting. “But for the record, I don’t think it’s too late,” he says, looking up to meet Bitty’s eyes. “I think maybe it’s the perfect time, eh?”

Bitty’s breath catches as Jack inches towards him on the couch, removing the pillow in between them so that their thighs are touching. Bitty, drawn like a magnet, can’t help but move towards Jack, too.

Jack’s hand comes to rest on Bitty’s shoulder. “Okay?”

Bitty nods slightly, feels his mouth start to dry. “More than.”

Jack’s hand slowly slides up to cup his cheek, and Bitty watches as he licks his lips. “Still okay?”

“Always such a gentleman,” he says, holding Jack’s hand in place with his own. “But you really don’t have to ask.” His eyes flick up to meet Jack’s steady gaze. “It’s always yes with you, Jack.”

Jack gives him the most blinding smile before he leans in to press a gentle kiss to Bitty’s lips. It starts out soft, cautious, lips meeting and lingering sweetly, until Jack’s hands slip down to Bitty’s waist. Bitty presses in closer, licking into Jack’s mouth, which Jack answers in kind. Jack tastes like cinnamon and maple syrup, he smells sweet and a little musky, and when Bitty pulls away for a fraction of a second to take a breath, he looks beautiful, cheeks ruddy and lips swollen. Bitty can’t help but press back in for more, giving as well as he gets, as Jack pulls him in even closer so that Bitty’s halfway in his lap. 

“Bitty,” Jack whispers, voice hoarse, as Bitty starts leaving a trail of kisses down his jaw. God, Bitty can’t get enough of Jack saying his name. He’s about to say exactly that, except he’s suddenly interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

“Bits?” They pull apart just in time to see Ford peek into the dressing room. “Showtime in thirty. Are you dressed yet or do you need me to—” Her unfinished question hangs in the air as she takes in the scene in front of her. “Huh.” She crosses her arms, but her expression is more amused than anything else. 

Bitty giggles while Jack hides his face in his shoulder. They hadn’t really gotten far enough to be inconspicuous about what they were doing—in fact, Jack’s arms are still stubbornly wrapped around his waist. “Showtime in thirty,” Bitty repeats, trying for diligence. “Copy that.”

Ford grins slyly. “Also, incoming.” She tosses him his phone, which Bitty catches easily. “You missed a call from your mom, probably to wish you good luck, so I think you might want to get back to her.”

“Thanks, girlie. You’re a blessing.” Bitty quickly checks his phone—his mom called not too long ago, so that should be fine. He looks back up at Ford, still hovering in the doorway, and subtly cocks his head towards Jack. “If that’s all…”

“I’ll leave you to get ready,” Ford says, winking at Bitty. “Nice to see you again, Zimmermann,” she adds, her tone teasing.

“You too, Denice,” Jack mumbles, peeking out from Bitty’s shoulder, before Ford finally closes the door.

They stay like that for a few more seconds, Jack’s face buried in Bitty’s shoulder with their arms wrapped around each other, when Bitty clears his throat. “I think I really should start getting ready,” he sighs, regretting it immediately when Jack’s arms start to loosen around him.

Jack pecks him lightly on the lips before pulling away completely. “Okay.”

Bitty eases off of Jack carefully, but grabs both his hands to tug him up. “Hey,” he starts, once Jack is on his feet.

“Hey, yourself.” Jack steps closer, looking down at him with a fondness that makes Bitty’s face feel like fire.

“I was serious. Before,” Bitty continues, looking down at their linked fingers. “About it not being too late for us.”

Jack smiles at him. “Well, I was serious, too. About the timing being perfect,” he says, and then pauses. “Well, in general, at least. Maybe not right this second.”

Bitty laughs, letting his forehead fall onto Jack’s chest. “You’re ridiculous, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack wraps his arms around Bitty, giving one final squeeze. “C’mon,” he says softly, pulling way. “We can talk after, okay? If we don’t get a move on, I’m sure Denice will kill me if you’re late. And then _I’m_ going to be late. And then we’d _really_ be—”

“ _Late Late_ ,” Bitty grouses, stepping backwards to open the door. “Ha-ha. You already used that one.”

“You liked it,” Jack says over his shoulder, grinning slyly.

“So what if I did?!” Bitty yells into the corridor, just to be a shit. Jack’s laugh echoes in the empty hallway.

Bitty’s just barely made it to the vanity when he hears another knock on the door. He sighs, walking over to open it. “Okay, Fordy, I’m getting ready, see—”

He’s cut off by Jack’s lips on his, but the shock only lasts a few seconds before he immediately melts into the kiss. It’s over much more quickly than Bitty would like, though, with Jack pulling away with a loud smack.

“One more for good luck,” Jack says, grinning cheekily. “But for the record, I don’t think you really need it. I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park.” He leaves—for real this time—with a wink.

Bitty stares at Jack’s retreating figure— _what a view, honestly—_ wondering what the hell he did to deserve all this. In his twenty-seven years of life, he never thought he’d achieve the level of fame required to guest-host a late night talk show. Of course, he’d also never envisioned himself in the guest dressing room of said late night talk show, making out with a professional hockey player he’s slated to interview in less than twenty minutes.

And yet.

  
  


Jack takes one look at the card and snickers. He reads slowly: “Who is your least favorite guest that’s ever been on your vlog?” The crowd oohs loudly at the question.

Bitty looks absolutely affronted and scoffs at the implication. “I’ve never had a guest on that I didn’t like, thank you very much!” He crosses his arms for full effect.

Jack laughs. “Okay, bud, but that’s not the question. It’s asking who your _least_ favorite guest is, so you can’t technically say no one.”

Bitty buries his face in his hands in defeat. “Oh, no.” He shakes his head, contemplating the difficult choice in front of him. “I mean, I very well can’t just… answer the question, can I? I—it’s, I’ve got really famous folks on there.”

“True,” Jack allows. “But is there someone you have in mind?” His eyebrows raise meaningfully.

Bitty stares at him, and then looks down at the small plate in front of him. “I can’t… Oh my goodness. I regret now that I never invited you to come on my show,” he says pointedly. 

Jack chuckles along with the rest of the audience. “It’s too late for that now, Bits.”

Bitty sighs deeply, picking up a piece of cod sperm and sniffing it. “Oh, god.” He gags, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.

“No way,” Jack says, eyes widening in glee.

Bitty glares at the tiny plate as if it had personally offended him. “How was this even cooked? Boiled or something?” He looks up at Jack, who gives him a bewildered look.

“How am I supposed to know?” Jack laughs, looking to a crew member for help. “Poached!” she yells. “They say it’s poached,” Jack repeats helpfully, making the audience titter.

“Oh, wow, thanks for that,” Bitty says sardonically, still gingerly holding the cod sperm between two fingers. He hesitates. “Okay… It’s not that he was rude or mean or anything, it’s just that—oh, hell—” Bitty unceremoniously pops the sperm into his mouth. The crowd goes wild. 

Jack hollers as if he’d just seen a magnificent goal being scored, laughing raucously. “How is it?”

Bitty’s face screws up in disgust, but he valiantly keeps chewing. “Creamy,” he says in between chews. The audience laughs at the unintended innuendo. “It’s… it’s a weird texture. It’s kind of hard to describe.”

Jack seems to be surprised he’s still going for it. “You know you can spit it out, right?”

Bitty smiles as he continues to chew, reaching for the can beside him. He pauses, considering. “To spit or to swallow?” he asks thoughtfully. The crowd yells opposing answers that Bitty pretends to consider with a teasing smile before turning away from the audience to spit it out.

Jack cracks up again. “Really thought about that one, eh?”

Bitty laughs along with him. “It was actually not that bad! It was like… a buttery explosion in my mouth.”

“A buttery—” Jack doubles over in laughter, and the audience shrieks their delight. 

“Oh, dear,” Bitty says, covering his face with his hands. “I heard it that time. Ugh, I’m sorry.”

Jack grins at him, shaking his head. “Round two?” he asks cheekily, and the audience laughs again.

Bitty smirks. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  
  


It’s too easy, after the show wraps, after the audience has dispersed, after laughs and jokes and promos and one amazing musical performance, after everything is done and over with, to follow Jack back into his dressing room and kiss him and be kissed until they’re both breathless. It’s even easier, after that, to fall back into conversation, like they’d been talking all those silent years after Samwell, just trading stories about their careers, their families, their friends. It’s easy to weasel their way out of the after party early, _it’s late and we’re tired,_ but everyone sees through it, and that’s fine, too, if it means you get to follow Jack back to his hotel room, to finally be alone together. It’s easy, even after months of no activity, fall into bed with Jack, to be close to him and to learn his ticks and tells and to make him feel good, like how he makes Bitty feel. And after all of that, it’s so easy to make plans about the future—New York isn’t that far from Providence, after all, and Bitty has a chunk of his career settled in Boston, anyway. It would be easy to make it work.

Of course, it’s only the first night, and Bitty knows for a fact this really is the easy part. That’s not to say he’s not willing to brave the hard parts just to make sure he gets to have this for real.

After, when the sky is dark and the world is quiet, Bitty says, “I keep thinking about how insane it is that we got this chance. You were never supposed to happen, Jack Zimmermann.” He’s got Jack’s face in his hands, lost in the beautiful blue of his eyes. 

“Or,” Jack muses, eyes tracking over Bitty’s face, “we were always supposed to happen. We just… needed a bit of time.”

Bitty smiles and leans in to kiss him then, and thinks, _If time is all we need, we have plenty. Time is all we have._

  
  


“You met your husband Jack Zimmermann at Samwell University when you were both in college, but you famously only got together after you both appeared on my show. Did you or did you not hook up backstage at the Late Late Show?”

Bitty knows he’s damned if answers, damned if he doesn’t— eating a slice of bull testicle would be equally as incriminating as admitting the truth. He looks just over James’ shoulder to see his husband snickering, a hand covering half his face. Bitty glares at him and then James, but it’s all fake heat. There’s really nothing to lose here—they were both public figures when they went public with their relationship, so everybody has known about them for years. No one’s going to be upset that they got together behind the scenes of a talk show. At least, no one important.   
  
Ugh. He can’t believe he let himself be talked into doing this again. He steels himself, looking down at the little bowl of bull testicle, thinks, _Nope, okay._

Bitty schools his expression into a coolly blank one, raising an eyebrow primly. “Define hook up.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr (@zimmerhomme)!


End file.
